


Hot summer days, rock and roll;

by kotaro_kun



Series: It's Nice to Have a Friend [6]
Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Childhood Friends, Eating Disorders, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Growing Up Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romantic Angst, everything ends great if you read the rest of the series, richie loves him too but he's sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotaro_kun/pseuds/kotaro_kun
Summary: When Eddie wanted to sayI love youhe would laugh at one of Richie's jokes and say"You're an idiot".
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: It's Nice to Have a Friend [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551595
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Hot summer days, rock and roll;

_“they say if a crush lasts more than  
_ _4 months  
_ _you’re in love._

 _so what happens when_ _  
__i’ve been infatuated with you  
_ _for 36 months?_

 _Have I fallen in love with you  
_ _9 times?_

 _Or have I just wasted  
_ _3 years  
_ _36 months_ _  
__156 weeks_ _  
__1092 days  
_ _craving you?”_

* * *

It’s summer. Eddie was laying down on Richie’s bedroom floor. The air was hot and heavy around him, the little fan in the corner doing nothing, in the back of his mind he annoyedly thought that they should just turn it off and save energy, but the moment was too calm, too quiet, too dream-like, and it felt like a sin to ruin it. 

One of Richie’s records were playing, Eddie recognized it as one of his favorite rock bands, the one he couldn’t name, and had no interest to do so. His room smelled of sweaty clothes, and smoke and his deodorant. A dry woody scent. Every surface had — as Richie would say — stuff. Old magazines and comic books, some so old that the pages were brownish-yellow and falling apart, empty pill bottles, his guitar on top of his dresser with his five decks of cards and the sea glasses he collected from trips to the beach. Random stuff, like thank-you-for-coming gifts from a child’s birthday party that was years ago and food wrappers; lots and lots of food packages. Clutter. Richie didn’t throw anything away. Never. Eddie did though. He sneakily threw away dozens of unnecessary _stuff_ his best friend had, and he never even realized. They made no difference. 

His hair was still damp, the only cool thing inside this room, the smell of the quarry still clinging to his skin, mixed with grass and fabric softener. The skin on his nose and cheekbones was burning and tight, sunburned, and he knew that in three days he would be peeling it off.

He closed his eyes.

A long time ago Eddie Kaspbrak made a list of the perfect lover for him.

“She must be shorter than me.  
With long and perfectly made hair.  
She needs to have soft skin.  
And a cute smile.  
She's got to dress well.  
And be polite, too.  
And delicate.”

He was twelve when he made that list. He was thirteen when he found a girl like that. 

They kissed on a sunday, behind the church. The cold spring breeze biting their cheeks, making his nose runny, his fingers numb. The bells were ringing above them and it was noisy. He was annoyed and confused. She was everything he wanted on a girl. And yet.

When they kissed it wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t even nice. It was draining. Eddie couldn’t explain the monumental effort it took to keep his arms around her. 

He wasn't made to hold. He was made to be holded.

Richie was steady hands and a solid ground. Acoustic guitar and cigarettes. His dad's expensive whiskey. He was all scabs and band-aids, swollen lips and crooked teeth. His shins were purple and sore, and his fingers had little scars. 

_I want him to hold me._

But then he thought of his mom. Holding him so tight it bruised his soul. His mama that just wanted her Eddie-bear to be safe, but didn't noticed when he stopped eating months ago. That never asked why she could see his ribs. Her child at war with his own body, with skin red and raw from trying to scrub her dirty words off of him, with skinny hands that looked nothing like hers. 

_I want to cut off her tongue and see if she can fight with only teeth._

He forgot that list, and then came Richie. 

Sixteen and already a foot taller than Eddie.

Messy jet-black hair, so thick a normal hairbrush couldn't bare the job. Sexy.

Calloused hands, bitten nails, stubbly face.

Split lips that holded the goofiest smile ever, a window showcasing a row of unsymmetrical teeth, but so big and so warm you couldn't help but smile back; his cacophony of a laughter warmed Eddie from the inside out.

Richie, who wore thrift-shop’s shirts and sneakers so worn his socks got wet every time he stepped out in the rain.

He knew how to curse in four other languages and loved a good insult, especially directed at him.

He had taken beat after beat. He was battered. He was strong. And reliable. Like a broken bone he always healed thicker than before.

He had never meant to fall in love with his best friend. He had promised not to. He honestly didn't see it coming. But he couldn't help it the days they would drink his mother's cherry licor on his bedroom floor, only wearing shirts and boxers, and laughing so hard. When they would run through Eddie's backyard in the middle of the night, reeking of chlorine after jumping the neighbours fence and swimming on his pool. The hushed laughter. The snowy afternoons spent in front of the TV, watching an 80s movie and burning their tongues with the hot chocolate, because they were too impatient to let it cool.

Eddie had expectations for when his loved one would appear. Maybe when he was at college, surely (hopefully!) far away from this town. How could he know that years later he would fall in love with the loud-mouthed kid at the playground. He was the love that came without warning. He had his heart before Eddie could even say _no_.

He turned his head, opened his eyes.

Richie was sprawled by his side on the floor, anything but the floor was too fucking hot for someone to comfortably lay on. Even from this position he could see that his glasses were fogged up, combining it with the always-present smudges Eddie didn’t think they were really serving the purpose of helping him see. Like the fan it made no difference if they were there or not.

His hip bones were pointing towards the ceiling and Eddie was brought back to the nights when they would have secret sleepovers — secret because Eddie’s mom was the worst thing to happen to him, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep, afraid that his Ma came to check on him during the night and caught them sharing the same bed. The nights he spent looking at this boy, laying on his sheets that he had slept in night after night, Richie surrounded by so much of _him._ Eddie was on the pillow his head rested on, the sheets his spine touched, the pictures on the wall. Eddie was beside him, counting the freckles on his shoulder and his breaths.

Richie was sleeping, his mouth was open and snores were tumbling from it. His face completely relaxed and peaceful. So soft. So handsome. His chest rising and falling and Eddie wanted to lay his head there and listen to his heartbeat, with his pale long fingers tangled on Eddie's curls. His skin smelled like light. He thought Richie was the moon. He just wished to sleep inside this moment. Live inside this _right now_ , with good music playing and his best friend and love by his side. A place to heal and smile. To be nestled and burrowed. To survive. 

He wanted Richie to look at him. To see how weightless he was. He wanted to say _"You make me this way"_ . But he wasn't Richie who said what was in his heart and on his mind. When Eddie wanted to say _I love you_ he would laugh at one of Richie's jokes and say _"You're an idiot"_. But in his heart what he wanted to do was kiss him, and hug him and cherish him. Just like the cheese romances. But Richie was always stoned and liked wild-tongue girls with green eyes, round thighs and a pack of cigarettes in their jeans’ back pockets and Eddie was an anorexic frail boy, that fucked up way too much and lashed out at everything for no reason.

He opened his eyes;

and were still stuck, by his sleeping best friend’s side, with a chest full of unrequited feelings. Like the fan, and the _stuff_ and the dirty glasses he had no use. There was fear and sorrow in this place, and a sadness eating at his soul. He commits a sin.


End file.
